


Media Res

by comradeocean



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-08
Updated: 2007-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comradeocean/pseuds/comradeocean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has to choose their own path. Just because Parvati isn't one of the trio, it doesn't mean that her life is any less harrowing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Media Res

When she first saw the bangles, her heart skipped a beat and her feet slowed down of their own accord, dragging in the dust of the marketplace. The heat already made everything heavy and slow but now she'd become truly rooted. Parvati gave a few experimental tugs on Ma's iron grip herding her through the afternoon rush hour, but the only reaction she received was an irritated shake of the head. Every step further away dug a deeper hollow into her chest until just as suddenly, the yearning ceased as though a line had been stretched taut and finally snapped. Parvati's body was her own again. Two blocks down when she finally had the presence of mind to look back, she could just make out the old woman swaddled in orange, asleep beside her wares. Parvati was thirteen. 

\----

Parvati never felt the pull of India quite the same way her parents or even Padma did. It was difficult, going back every summer. They had to travel by Portkey, whole groups of people with screaming babies and cumbersome luggage, to continental Europe where they caught the Intermountain Express. Just like the Hogwarts Express, Padma would say, but with 23 times more people, abrupt jumps and a persistent smell of curry. (Which didn't even make sense, given that curry spells had been banned on all Europe-bound trains for 16 years by the Indian Cultural Commission in a foolish attempt to diversify India's magical image abroad.)

The Express split up the railcars for different destinations as soon as it entered Himalayan Mountain Space, a violent jolt that never failed to make Parvati nauseous and peaky until they got off at Dwarka. She couldn't get used to the blurry mingling of magic that greeted her off the train. Muggle Dwarka and Magical Dwarka were one and the same. There were no easy transitions and gateways like London had, and without the distinct separation of foreign and familiar, she was lost all the time. Parvati was supposed to like new experiences and exotic locales. Adventure - and daring! - were supposed to run in her veins. 

But a song doesn't make it so, and bravery isn't what it's cracked up to be. 

\----

There was a time, maybe, long ago before memory even begins, when there was something else in this country for them. Some forgotten promise or meaning she can't quite make out. They weren't born here, that's for sure – twinned birth certificates bearing the stamp of St. Mungo's hang in the kitchen in London – but once there was expectancy for a future that has long been discarded. Unfinished business always hangs thick back home, but here, it explodes with the extended family around them, somehow always restless and edgy. Parvati pins this on their status as visiting foreigners and tries to explain it away with Padma. It never fails to put Padma in one of her quiet moods, hemming and hawing without ever being able to fully articulate what's troubling her. Padma, who is certain there are always some deeper underlying truths, finally attributes it to “I reckon there's some terrible family secret somewhere. Just a matter of time. No need to worry ourselves now.”

\----

The summer Parvati got her bangle was the worst in her life. All the colours were overbright and the sounds too loud. Some sheen had gotten on everything that shook out the sleeping complacency and uneasy equilibrium of the Patil household. It was beginnings and endings and despite all that happened afterwards, it was still probably her favourite summer. What she remembers of it, she remembers only in flashes.

\----

It's the middle of the afternoon again and Parvati sneaks out when everyone is sleeping. She's told Padma about the bangles the night before and Padma is acutely interested in their magical properties. They know all about bangles, of course; Ma and all the older cousins have them, but whether the younger girls would continue the tradition has been the topic of fierce debate in recent years. 

The Indian Cultural Commission had been trying to stamp out bangle use since the 1950s, citing it as a backward and old-fashioned practice that would set India at a disadvantage within the international Wizarding community. More than that, it was a dangerous and unregulated industry. But the Ministry was forever making announcements and proclamations to which no one paid much attention. Time-delayed curry spells were set on travel-food, goats roamed the markets under hastily applied Disillusionment charms, and year after year mothers brought their teenaged daughters to bangle makers. Nani, however, prided herself and the rest of the Patil clan on being modern and forward thinking. While all the women who married into the family came with their bangles as well as wands, she did her utmost to discourage similar practices amongst the younger generation. 

It was difficult to tell what Ma or Babuji thought because they had always let everyone else do the arguing. Moreover, so much about the bangles themselves was personal and seldom talked about in mixed company. Like everything else unknown and frowned upon, they had only become more and more interesting. The mystique was wrapped around implications of forthcoming womanhood and from what Padma and Parvati could gather from cousins and suddenly hushed conversations, the window of possibility in acquiring bangles came after the first bleed, and preferably before the sixth. They were forever trying to find out more, and yet, for all the open politics and loud arguments, bangles remained a mystery for the most part. But now...

Parvati hesitates at the gate. Had this happened two years ago, they would have set out together, all hushhush and uneasy excitement, but she accepts that operations are a bit different these days. Padma needs a few days to think things out, turn over their previously accumulated knowledge and check whatever needed checking in her growing collection of reference texts. Such patience does not sit well with Parvati. She remembers the tug, and how it anchored her. The certainty was alien, but exhilarating; a purpose she could taste, an understanding for the chaotic mix of Dwarka beyond their gated complex. Such stability finally wiped away the constant urge to remain tucked inside the courtyard and Parvati is comfortable. Parvati is herself. Parvati is in top form again. As she ought to be.

But it's hopeless. Parvati barely makes it to the end of the block before the crushing mix of magic and otherness causes her to falter at every other step. Was the market really that way should she turn back is she already lost what if they wake up early how to find the way back Ma think Ma. Oh, the bitterness: just a song doesn't make it so, and there is no top form, is there?

\----

Being sorted into Gryffindor was terribly exciting, especially when Harry Potter joined them straightaway at the table after her. He had very nice eyes and that night in the dormitory, one of the other first year girls said as much. It was strange, talking to someone other than Padma, but after Parvati said something about the freckles all over the Weasley twins and the other girl giggled and giggled, she had to join in and that was that. 

Lavender Brown did a lot of giggling. And shrieking and whispering and snickering, and Parvati could tell Padma didn't really approve, across the hall at the Ravenclaw table. It was in their blood to be twinned, and Padma was constantly around a moody-looking girl with dark hair. That girl never cracked a smile; Parvati didn't even think she knew how to giggle and it seemed to be rubbing off on Padma, who was becoming increasingly dour. They had a good laugh about that one, Lavender and her. Afterwards Parvati felt guilty. Just a bit. “Dour” was one of Lavender's words that really meant crotchety old fart and she thought it hardly fair to call Padma that.

That first year, she would note again and again how strange and new it was, being a part of this other twosome. More than that, it was easy. No reminder of the big heavy silence from the house. They talked about boys and teachers and exotic magic (a favourite topic of Lavender's). Once or twice, they tried to live up to their house name and plotted half-hearted adventures. None of it went anywhere, but the air of expectancy was thrust upon them, Harry Potter just the hall down and everything. Parvati kept waiting for something to happen to them – errant broomsticks or man-eating plants - but nothing ever did. It was hard being ordinary amongst heroes.

\----

Before being called back home and forced to make the annual trek to India, Parvati spent two weeks with Lavender that first summer. The entire time all Lavender wanted to hear about was the upcoming trip. Underage magic was forbidden, but they spent days at the park where Lavender got her to act out all the duels of the Mahabharata that Parvati could remember. The story of Damayanti was a favourite. Parvati tried to downplay the excitement of living in a foreign country with such different magic since nothing especially extraordinary had ever happened, but when she boarded the train that year, she felt a frisson of anticipation. 

The ride brought only nausea and the summer only a familiar confusion of being thrown into a world Parvati just didn't understand. It was easy for Lavender to talk about belly-dancing princesses and finding old-world death spells without having to deal with the messiness of everyday Dwarka. The mugginess that confined them to the courtyard and week after week of lounging around in hammocks brought a static quietness that extended into second year, getting worse all the while. 

All around them, people were getting bewitched and Polyjuiced and saved, but Parvati was still wrapped in a bubble of mundaneness, giggling along with Lavender. She counted her regrets in never exploring Dwarka properly, never trying illegal spells outside of British borders, never doing. Leaving Hogwarts, Parvati willed something to happen – for that dreadful family secret to explode, for a fire demon to set itself after twins – anything. And now, something has.

\----

Parvati presses on, slipping between shaded parts of the sidewalk and trying to quieten the clamour in her head. She is rewarded by a growing hubbub that reveals as its source the market. Even in the relative calm of early afternoon nap time, most stalls are overcrowded with customers. Parvati drifts past the merchants, waiting for a reaction like yesterday's. After ambling aimlessly for over half an hour, she is tired and sweaty when a spot of orange catches her eye. Again, the old woman is dozing and perhaps because of it, there is a marked difference between her quiet spread and the stands on either side of her. This lack of bustle gives Parvati the courage to kneel down and examine the objects laid out for sale.

One thing becomes certain: the bangles are not amongst them. Nothing tugs at her in quite the same way as she sorts through the trinkets. Just as she is about to give up, a voice startles Parvati out of her hunt.

“It's been a long time since anyone stopped here. Does anything in particular catch your eye, Didi?”

Parvati is mindful of her accent, but she clears her throat and in an effort not to whisper, almost shouts out her answer.

“There were some bangles. I saw them here yesterday.”

“Bangles.” The old woman continues to mutter as she adjusts her sari. “It has been a long time. A long, long time.”

She brings out a dull red one, and immediately Parvati's heart hammers, the beat almost drowning out what the old woman says next.

“You live up a few streets there. Your Mummy and quite a few aunts all got bangles from me. Long time since then.”

From another fold, she brings out the other in the pair, all the while talking.

“Bangles are just like wands. Better I say. But just like wands, the bangles choose the witch. Now look at this one. It seems to have done its choosing.”

Parvati's hand reaches out to touch it. This is it. The heady feeling overwhelms her apprehension and she interrupts.

“Have you got another pair, just like those? For my sister. We're twins.”

The old woman snatches the bangles away from her.

“Twins! Is that it - are you sure?” An odd inflection in her voice. “And you haven't had your first bleed yet, have you, girl?”

Parvati shakes her head.

“And neither has your twin. Then you must talk to your Mummy and come back to see me together. Another day.”

And just like that, the old woman returns the bangles to the folds of her sari, and begins to pack up the rest of her merchandise with the nimbleness of a young girl.

Without the bangles in her sight, Parvati can feel the same panic as before rising and a stream of words escape.

“Please, just a while longer. I'm new here. I don't know if those are the ones. And wait. I don't know the way back. Please help me.”

The old woman stops and gives Parvati a sharp glance.

“Those are the ones, alright.” She resumes her motions but continues to speak. “Bangles are funny things. They work to centre you and your magic, but that makes it wilder. Different ways than wands. Better than wands because deeper. They say blood don't matter. But it does. Mind, not in the way they think.”

She stands up, just a bit taller than Parvati.

“And your home, too. That's a centre. And there's blood there. That house up the street - it's not your home. But it's what you have right now.”

She places a hand on Parvati's forehead, smoothing back her hair.

“Now you've seen your bangles. Go find your centre.”

The old woman's fingers are dry and cool. They calm Parvati, and when they leave her, the flustered yearning the bangles brought is gone as well. She stands and watches until all the wares are packed up and the old woman begins shuffling away.

\----

The old woman was right. Parvati had no difficulty finding her way back, though she was thoroughly spooked. Everyone was still asleep, her absence unnoticed. When she woke Padma and recounted everything that had happened, Parvati suggested a second secret mission but in a reversal of roles her twin insisted on approaching Ma as soon as possible, to the point of waking her up that instant.

Parvati got along so much better with Babuji. Who was never demanding, who smiled with almost childlike happiness at everything she had to say. She could hardly imagine exposing anything as complicated as this to Ma’s withering critiques and curt silences, but Padma was determined. It was another one of those things. For as long as Parvati remembers, she always gravitated towards their father and Padma, their mother. As they got older and especially after the first year at Hogwarts, they increasingly preferred their respective parent.

\----

To Parvati's surprise, Ma listens without interruptions and agrees with a single silent nod to go with them and see the old woman the following morning. Nothing else is said. The girls tiptoe around the rest of their relatives that evening, afraid Ma has told someone else who will soon create an outburst. The evening is uncharacteristically subdued and when nothing happens by bedtime, they spend half the night in fervent whispers. 

“Do you think she told Daddy?”  
“Why didn't she ask any questions?”  
“Did her bangles really come from there?”  
“How can the old lady tell we haven't - you know.”

Ma wakes them at dawn, before the sun has come up. When they set out, the streets are quiet and the market almost deserted, but she seems to know exactly in which corner to find the stand. When they arrive, the old woman is awake, writing in an old ledger. Padma looks over in interest but the woman wordlessly moves it aside and from deep in her sari, produces bangle after bangle. 

“Always mummy dust. Best of the grade. And clay from right around here – straight Indus valley. You should know this, Rahel. It is Rahel, right?”

“It is, Guruji.” Parvati is surprised to see Ma bow. Ma, who rarely demurs to anyone, even when tradition and ceremony require it. 

“These are my daughters, Padma and Parvati. Parvati visited you yesterday. She tells me you have some bangles for her.”

“I do. That's Padma there, then. Step closer, Didi.”

During the tense walk, Padma and Parvati had reverted to their childish habit of clasping hands; now Padma tries to gently disentangle her hand, but Parvati holds on tighter and steps up with her.

“What do you think, girl?”

Parvati feels, rather than hears, Padma take a deep breath.

“Parvati told me about the bangles. But I don't feel like that. Yet.”

The old woman sizes Padma up and continues bringing out more bangles. Dull and bright, the circlets are soon scattered all over the cloth. Parvati wonders for a moment how so many could have been tucked in the folds of one sari before realizing that they were magicked.

“And now? Still nothing?”

Padma shakes her head.

“How about you Parvati?”

Parvati gives the bangles a cursory glance.

“Mine aren't here.”

Then in the same instant, Padma and Parvati grip each other's hand. They have seen the same pair. And it has chosen them both.

\----

Later on, this is always the moment that flashes back to Parvati. Padma's hand in her own. The old woman looking expectantly at them. Ma, far away, a grey shadow in the morning. The orange of the old woman's sari. The dull red of the bangles. This is the moment Ma could have suddenly reached down and taken the bangles, smashing them. This is when the old woman could have suddenly collapsed from heatstroke. But none of those things happen and Padma and Parvati continue standing there, clutching each other's hand and staring at the bangles.

\----

They were to go back to the old woman, of course, for lessons. She tells them, “They're not like those wands. I can't just give them and you wavewave play, whichever. Too dangerous. Even before your bleeds.” She fusses with the rest of the bangles she had taken out. “And doubly dangerous, the both of you with the same bangles. This I don't remember. And I've been remembering for a long long time.” She begins to pack up the rest of her wares, even though the day has not even begun. “Come back tomorrow. Same time before everything is busy busy. And we'll start.”

Through it all, Ma watches with an unchanging look on her face. Parvati says it is either boredom or deference. Padma disagrees. She says it must be sorrow.

\----

The first time they go, they bring breakfast for the old woman, who instructs them to call her Guruji. They never learn her real name. She clasps their hands, fiddles with the edges of the palla of their saris. The bright orange of Guruji invades their personal space, and to her surprise, Parvati doesn't really mind. 

\----

Time and time again that summer, she gets them to hold other bangles, searching for a similar response. But time and time again, Parvati reacts to the same ones, and Padma just as strongly, if not more so. 

“Bangles come in pairs. One for each arm. Not one for each sister's arm.”

When they try to ask what bangles are made from, Guruji only repeats that the properties of bangles depend on the clays and metals from which they are made. And then, No need to worry. Best of the grade. And clay from right around here – straight from Indus valley.

\----

They sit and talk, It's just a structure, like a frame for a picture. Like our wands are just a channel? A picture is fine without a frame. But then you try to hang it on the wall. Bangbangbang with nails. But then what you got? Holes in your picture without a frame.. But sometimes they just sit. No one ever stops at the stand to interrupt their conversations or silences. Instead, Guruji sends them on errands, fetching and selling odds and ends. Pieces of disparate information like whether the beggar two lanes over thinks it will rain tomorrow. He receives a thimble in exchange for his troubles. Similar outlandish requests and payments cause Padma and Parvati to stare at each other in puzzlement, but no one else ever questions it. 

At the beginning they speak haltingly, ever-conscious of their heavy accents, and move cautiously around the market, but in time their tongues and legs shake free. The heady mixture of Muggle and magic that first waylaid Parvati soon fits her like a glove. They scamper all over, knowing how to skip past all the inhabitants, whether motorized bicycles or a lost cow. They make friends with the boy at the goat milk stand and get free goat milk twice a week. 

\----

In the middle of their conversations, there are often casual spurts of magic, though neither Padma nor Parvati ever figure out how Guruji did it, never carrying a wand nor wearing any bangles. Once she stops abruptly in the middle of a sentence and fixes a steady eye on the two of them.

“Can you feel that?”

Whatever spell she has been doing intensifies and Parvati and Padma find themselves nodding, almost in a trance.

“Good.” Guruji smiles. “Very good.”

She gets them to put on the bangles, one each. 

“Old magic, here. Neither good nor bad.” When both girls slip on the bangles, she speaks again.

“It will link you, but it divides and cuts aside. It will be difficult. Very important that you know this and you know when it happens.” She reaches over and places a hand on each of their foreheads. 

“Blood and spirit are very old. Older than magic. To use that old way is always very dangerous to hold and to control. The distinctions between what is you and what is yours become difficult if you are not careful.” She pauses. “I need some orange thread from Gupta. Make sure it's from the spools at the back.”

\----

Though they often wear the bangles for most of the day, they are never allowed to take them home overnight. Not that Parvati wants to. Ma was the only person they'd told, and as far as she could tell, Ma kept it to herself. She dearly wished to tell Babuji, but Padma convinced her that one person is one more liability, and who's to say Nani wouldn't get it out of Babuji if he accidentally lets something slip? And once it got that far, who knows what could happen with the rest of the family weighing in. Parvati doesn't entirely agree but she can hardly go behind Padma's back on a secret they'd both agreed to keep. Bringing it up at every opportunity doesn't help, either; it is becoming an increasingly sore point between them. The strain shows at the market. Parvati wonders if Guruji notices that they aren't holding hands when they come.

It turns out that the dispute was all for naught. One morning they find Babuji waiting for them at the gate. He gives each of them a kiss on the forehead and tells them to be careful. That day, Parvati and Padma hold hands on both the walk down and back.

\----

Parvati catches Babuji giving them small worried smiles. Ma only asks if they've found any other bangles, or are they still both attached to the same ones. The answer only deepens the strange look that now rarely leaves her face.

Nani and the rest of the family only find out two weeks before they leave, after Mausa Shankar casually asks them at supper what they've been up to all summer and Mausi Lakshmi remarks that she's often seen them running around the market. 

Like most of Nani's outbursts, it starts off with a livid torrent of exclamations.“No granddaughters of mine will wear such things! All witchywitchy old-fashion stuff!” Before the mass of chatter as the rest of the family joins in the hubbub. ”What they should have done was take those technomagic courses at the call centre”; ”All the girls these days are doing it.”; ”We need to keep our traditions alive.”; ”But what, go against the rest of the family who, I might add, have made a unanimous decision”; ”Hah! If what you mean by rest of family, you mean you and Shankar.” 

Unlike with most of Nani's outbursts, she suddenly cuts everyone short and turns to Ma.  
”Nothing good will come from this, Rahel. And for goodness sake, Estha, if she doesn't do anything about it, you've got to.” She pushes aside her dinner. “I will say this. Nothing good will come.” And incredibly, with that dark warning, she leaves the table and does not emerge from the bedroom that night.

In spite all that, neither Ma nor Babuji stops them, so they keep going. The only new decree is that they must now set out every afternoon shortly before tea and return before supper.

\----

In the last few days, Guruji sends them away one by one, more and more, for longer periods of time. It is now that Parvati begins to fear the power of the bangles. Guruji begins to individually teach them the components of the magic that seems to flood them from the bangles. With the lessons, she asks Parvati an endless stream of questions that sometimes appear to have nothing to do with the task at hand. Guruji had always asked probing questions, often with ominous undertones, but nothing like the startling lines of query with which she now flooded Parvati. Why does your Papa always talk with you and not Padma? Does Padma know about your birthmark? Did your Ma wear her bangles in England? How? On which wrist? And when Parvati tries to ask how she even knew to begin to ask, Guruji just moves on to another question. How heavy is your accent when you speak Latin?

Guruji asks often what Parvati most looks forward to at school. When Parvati talks about the upcoming Divination lessons they are to begin in September, Guruji reaches over and holds her face with both hands and asks, looking into her eyes, “What's the future if not each successive moment of how you mould the present?” Parvati does not have an answer. 

Guruji begins a Vedic hymm and gestures for Parvati to follow. She had mentioned earlier that the creation and activation of bangles was closely related to the power in oral traditions and incantations, but there were no further explanations, only snatches of humming through out each day. When Parvati finds herself now continuing after Guruji without thinking, she realizes that they must have absorbed whatever it was Guruji meant for them to learn in the seemingly innocuous songs.

Sometimes, when Guruji sees her uncertainty, they have long conversations about the nature of fear.

“Seeing the fear is the first step. It is the best step. Once you see the fear you know what it is. You can assess. Determine if you are ready for it. And if you're not.”

“Is Padma also afraid?”

“Why didn't you ask her yourself?”

Parvati is silent. “I don't know.”

“Exactly. Link but divide and cut aside, you see.”

“But is it good, then, that I am afraid? And if Padma is not, is that bad?”

“Old magic. Neither good nor bad.”

“But if Padma is not, can't you warn her?”

“No. Everyone must find out for themselves. Otherwise, it's just a lecture. And then it's worse than no good. The very opposite of good.”

“What happens if Padma doesn't know fear?”

“I will do the best I can. To suggest and help.”

\----

Together, they pack without magic, heeding the underage ban. But it doesn't matter much; even without the bangles, Parvati can feel, under her skin, the hum of residual magic from the bangles. They still haven't done any magic with them, exactly. But when she was around them, the headiness of the first yearning permeated everything Parvati experienced. And now it is spilling over, away from the market, Guruji and the bangles. Padma must have felt the same way. Parvati sees her moving with deliberation, almost wonder. Head cocked, staring at a pair of rolled-up socks.

“You too, right?” Parvati asks.

Padma beams. “We wear them on different wrists, did you notice?”

\----

Ma comes to their bed the night before they are to leave, waking them up long after everyone else in the house has fallen asleep.

“How are you two holding up? All ready for the trip back?”

They nod solemnly.

“Did the bangles ever get sorted out?”

“We're very comfortable with them now,” Padma says. Parvati can't tell if she deliberately answers the wrong question.

“That's good. But have you found different ones?”

“No.” Parvati hears herself whisper.

Ma sighs in the dark. She mutters a spell, and the room is lit with soft light.

“That's not very good to hear. Did Guruji say anything about that?”

Neither twin responds. And she answers her own question.

“Probably not very clearly. Knowing the way Guruji speaks.” Ma fiddles with her bangles for a moment.

“Guruji told you two to pick up the bangles early in the morning tomorrow, right? I can't let you go, darlings.”

Parvati involuntarily whimpers and tries to stifle the whining tone in her voice. “But they're ours.”

Ma's voice is light. “Yes, I know. And both of yours too.” She reaches out to touch Parvati's hair. “But it is too dangerous.”

When Padma speaks, her voice is light as well.

“Guruji said something like this might happen. She said if we didn't pick them up tomorrow, she will come here. Guruji said you probably wouldn't want that to happen.”

Even in the dim light, Parvati could see Ma turning pale. She sits at the edge of the bed a while longer before kissing them goodnight.

\----

Early in the morning, Babuji creeps into their room and strokes Parvati's forehead with trembling fingers.

“Please, Parvati baby. Don't go. For me.” The familiar face is full of creases, smiling and sad. Lips turning down and up, and brightness lodges in his eyes. “Do it for Babuji. It will be so, so much better if you and Padma don't go. Just back to the regular, you know. We'll go back, and you can spend the summer with Lavender.”

Padma, beside her, breathes deep and even, but under the blanket her hand resting on Parvati's thigh tightens. 

Parvati feels like crying – her throat aches but it is hot and gritty and there are no tears. Sounds are caught and her voice is muffled and teeny so Bapuji has to lean even closer to hear. 

“I'm so sorry, Papa.” A dry sob that rattles her chest. “I'm so sorry.” 

He does not get angry but nods tiredly, emotions still fighting for control over his features. 

“That's the way it is sometimes, isn't it, Parvati baby?” He plants kisses along her hairline and leaves the room, a hunched shadow of the predawn grey.

\----

They get out of bed soon after and dress without speaking. The house is strangely silent, as if it were holding its breath for the day to begin. They walk more slowly than usual. A few times, Parvati stops to look at Padma, who begins to move her mouth but pauses without having said what she set out to say. Parvati doesn't know what she wants to say either. Something is not right at the market when they reach it. Expectantly silent, just like the house. As they approach Guruji's corner, it becomes clear that whatever is not right is going to get much worse.

A crowd of onlookers has encircled Guruji's stall. At its centre stands Ma, fire in her eyes and arms hanging loosely. Guruji stands across from her. The family form a semi-circle around Ma, Nani and even old Nana, who rarely leaves his bed, further back. Babuji is not here. 

Parvati and Padma stand together outside the circle for a moment, hands clasped together. “We've got to go in,” Parvati hears herself whisper. “Ok.” Padma whispers back. They need to push through only the first layer. After that, people part and let them through, fearful looks on their faces.

“Good morning, Padma. Good morning, Parvati.” Guruji greets them with a small bow. “You have come to pick up your bangles.”

Guruji has not spread out her wares. Instead, they are still wrapped in the pack she carried on her back. On her usually bare arms are dozens of bangles. Clay and metal and all sorts of colours and sizes. For the first time, Parvati notices how ragged and torn the orange sari is.

When Ma speaks, yards away, her voice carries and reaches Parvati as if Ma were whispering into her ear.

“I hoped. I had hoped so dearly. And I waited. Very patiently. You cannot fault me for this.”

Guruji turns away from them and steps around so she is between Ma and them, so they are behind her. 

“The bangles choose the witch.”

“This can not be done.”

“It must. The bangles know.”

“We are leaving. My daughters will not wear bangles.”

“But there is another.”

“He is not yours to claim!”

Guruji's voice takes on a harshness that hurts Parvati's ears. “The bangles choose! The bangles know!”

Ma's voice matches hers. “There was no body!”

“Rahel. You forget.”

“There is no body.”

Guruji radiates such anger and malice such that Parvati wonders how she could have ever thought her harmless. “You have no right. Do not think me old and foolish.”

Again, Ma's voice matches hers. “Mine! They are all mine!” 

“You have not let go. You need to let go!”

And for the first time, Ma's voice breaks - “My blood, my egg twins. My darling boy.” - before strengthening again. “NO.” Her bangles, normally dark blue, begin to glow. Behind her, the women step forward, their bangles alight as well.

In answer, the rings of bangles along the old woman's arms begin to clatter. One by one, they also gleam, reaching a brightness that hurts the eyes.

“This is not what you want, Rahel.”

“You cannot fault me.”

“You will make them angry.”

“The exchange has to happen anyway.”

“You know it cannot without you.”

“Better us two than involving them.”

“They are already involved. Why don't you make it easier for them, for their sake.”

“It is for their sake. I have to. For what is me and mine.” And with those words, Ma mumbles something indiscernible and shadows begin to rise out from her bangles. Behind her, aunties and Nani follow suit and in front of her, Guruji mumbles the same phrase with the same results. Horrified, Parvati watches the jumbling of shadow bodies take shape. Padma whispers “It's OK. We would have had to do it anyway.”

The shadows meet in the middle, these two swarms of awkward lurking bodies. It isn't like the story books; there are no bandages to trip over, just dry dry bones and sunken hollows for eyes. As they meet, the shadow bodies writhe for a moment before snapping rigid and changing directions. Slowly, the line of division between the two masses swing one way, then the other. The air is thick with the smell of magic. Parvati catches some onlookers shaking their heads, as if trying to clear a bad case of dizziness.

More and more of the shadow bodies turn towards Ma's half until there are no stragglers pushing against the tide. Ma's lips are pursed. A sheen of sweat coats her forehead. But still she stands, arms loose at her side, and behind her, the rest of the family.

With a final sigh, Guruji gives her arms a shake, so the bangles rattle loudly against one another, and all the shadows rush back into Ma's bangles. Her arms are now held woodenly, like they were immobile pieces of a rickety puppet. 

Softly, “You have to release them, Rahel.” 

The bangles remain whole on their wrists and the glow does not go out. Instead, the bangles dim, layers of brightness shattering into tiny pieces in the air and with it, something new and different. A bright twinkling that bathes the twins; a reminder of the three eggs that once swam together in an amniotic sea. It makes Parvati ache in her chest. Beside her, Padma is weeping. Parvati finds herself swept with memories she didn't know she had. Three giggling babies beside one another in a crib. The impatience of having to having to teach two of them how to stand before they could do it along with her.

Guruji speaks in her regular voice again. “It is easy to skirt the laws of love. But Rahel, you can only rewrite them for so long. These are not twins. You have to share them, Rahel. You have to share their brother.”

Ma offers a broken sob. She cradles her arms against her body.

Guruji suddenly deflates and is at once the old woman of the market again. “I have been here very long. I am done all I have set out do. You, all of you, look on your wrists. Once, an age ago, you all came to me for bangles. I am the last bangle maker of Dwarka. I am the last of the bangle makers. There will be no more bangles of Dwarkanath.”

As she raises her old twisted arms trembling towards the sky, bangle upon bangle exploded in bright rings until only two remain. There is a bright flash of orange flame, and Guruji is gone. All that is left are two bangles, lying on pieces of orange cloth, dull red and indistinguishable from each other.

Before Ma can react, Padma scrambles forward and grabs both bundles, passing one to Parvati and keeping the other for herself. 

“We've got our bangles.”

“We're going to keep them.”

They speak in turns, quiet amongst the hush of the crowd, without looking at each other or Ma.  
Ma gazes at them and says nothing.

Parvati's head is abuzz with what they may now have to do. She remembers dueling from last term, but how could she and Padma possibly fight against an entire crowd of adults, their own family no less?

But there is no need for worry because Padma whispers that same indecipherable word from before as soon as she slips on the bangle. 

And oh, yes, the colour of the bangles comes back. There is joy. Headyheadyheady trips of euphoria and power and soaring gusts of something fierce that sweeps from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. This desire to protect what is her and hers.

Parvati can barely make out what Ma and the aunties are doing for the shadows flooding out of the bangle on her right wrist. This time, a third presence joins in the fray on their side, one that brings back the ache in her chest.

Before the tides could meet again, it suddenly all comes to an end. Ma is sobbing, almost collapsing on the women who are supporting her from all sides.

\----

All through the summer, apart from the breakfast on the first day, Guruji never took anything from them. Her payment was truth.

\----

Sirens from all directions zoomed in. Muggle and magical law enforcement swarmed the market. Only then did Parvati see Babuji running down the street that was completely foreign to her only weeks ago.

“Do not touch! Nobody touch! My daughters are British citizens! My daughters, my wife and I are British citizens. No jurisdiction here. We only speak to British Magical Law enforcement.”

In his arms were bundles and bundles of documents – birth certificates, passports, landing papers and lease agreements. Single and double copies and now Parvati knew, some must also be in triplicate.

The crowds closing closer and her father running into the periphery of it was the last of what Parvati was aware of before she fell into black. She fell Padma fell she against she and her and they fell with each other. There was no longer a third, there can be no third.

\----

The rest of the summer is a strained affair. They return silently on the train to a silent house. Parvati spends a few days helping around the shop, getting used to the bangle, before leaving for Lavender's and Hogwarts. They never clear the air or talk about the shame Padma and Parvati have brought on the family by lashing out in such a way. 

Parvati and Padma did magic together all the time, holding hands, back to back. This was how they first learned, first experimented. Parvati doesn't think she can do it any longer, after what happened. Every reminder makes her slightly nauseous. 

She does ask Padma out of curiosity if Guruji had taught them the indecipherable words at one point.  
“We always knew, really.” Parvati can't read her expression.

\----

Lavender does not understand her reticence to talk about what happened. When she goes on and on about the properties of saffron in conjunction with authentic Indian bangles, Parvati finally loses her patience and snaps. “Stop being so childish. Real life isn't like your stupid Witch Weekly magazines.”

Lavender would have called Guruji dour.

\----

During the feast in the great hall, Dumbledore's eyes reached hers, full of questions. Parvati smiled in return, in a way she hoped was reassuring. He didn't seek her out again.

Hogwarts is a strange experience through the bangles. The magic means much more and around Professor Trelawney, she feels it most of all. When she confides in Lavender about this after their fight, all is forgiven. Divination becomes their favourite subject.

\----

Padma finds her after class.

“It was very brave. What you did.” She offers a small smile. “I'm not brave like you. I had to get Morag to hex me before class. I couldn't do it.” She fingers her bangle absentmindedly. “I don't think Madam Pomfrey likes me very much. But that's okay. I mean with -” Padma shakes her wrist and the dull red of the clay catches light from a window as the bangle makes one, two, three lazy swings.

Padma didn't know how it was. There were no bandages last summer. Aside from a small tingling when the mummy first walked out of the trunk, the actualization of her internalized fear was a joke compared to the actual thing. She hadn't learned to come to terms with her fear. 

Later that evening, Parvati slowly works the bangle off her wrist, taking care not to chip any of the layers of dye and clay. There are things she can't tell Padma now, not that she doesn't want to but because she doesn't trust Padma to hear. Just like the old lady had predicted, she went one way and Padma had gone the other. There wasn't anything she could do.

Parvati finds the orange scarf deep in her trunk and wraps the bangle in it before returning both to the bottom left corner.

The first few days are difficult. Colours and sounds all out of joint and she drifts through the school with a hand constantly on her wand to assure herself that magic is still there, should she choose to find it. Lavender seems to understand and doesn't tease much. “I acted strange when I first got it too. I was wondering what took you so long.” Parvati knows better than to correct her.

When Padma notices, she doesn't comment. Yes. There are things now they can't talk about and the list only grows longer.

\----

Sometimes, early in the morning when she wakes up before anyone else, Parvati digs in her trunk until a finger brushes against the filmy texture of the scarf. It calms her. After a minute she is able to withdraw her hand and let the faded circle burning in her mind fall back into the background chatter of boys and Divination homework. A few times though, she can't resist gingerly slipping the bangle on and letting its wash of focus flood her body until the stirrings of the other girls compel her to replace the bangle in the trunk. She spends the rest of the day aching for the clarity the bangle offered her, longing for a harmony of the moment. 

Lavender helps. Her busy chatter fills the gap and Parvati gratefully allows herself to drown in the quotidian motions of being young and silly. They fixate themselves with mysticism and every time Parvati feels herself being drawn in, she hates herself a little bit but follows Lavender's lead anyway. Gradually, she does come into her own and it is no longer a game put on for kicks. The straggling tea leaves and patterns of Jupiter speak to her just off the edge from what she can grasp. And during the few times she does, Parvati keeps it to herself like a secret and understands how Trelawney might keep up with the silliness just for the few glorious seconds of clarity.

\----

Slughorn scares her, much more than Moody ever did. His smell is cloaked around him, medicinal and thick.

Parvati is glad she isn't taking Potions and tries to stay out of his way, but the bangle wrapped in the orange scarf at the bottom of her trunk still draws her to him, just as it had with Trelawney and later, Firenze. It in't really power it seeks, but a kind of allure, perhaps. It looks for colour in the disorder and seeks to unite the dark and powerful with tepid and timid. She'd felt it last year, during the DA days, when the compulsion to put the bangle back on kept her on edge for most of the second term. During fourth year, she had made a point of not wearing the bangle during the Yule Ball, going as far as owling home ahead of time for some other bracelets. They hadn't talked about it, but Padma ended up doing the same. Parvati couldn't imagine why. There were days when she could barely allow herself to look across the Great Hall at the Ravenclaw table for how strongly she felt the presence of Padma's bangle. She certainly didn't mind stewing within the cover of the bangles.

\----

Parvati spends her summers with Lavender. Padma goes back to India year after year by herself, and once with a Slytherin named Theodore Nott. Parvati remembers a conversation that may not even have taken place where Padma smiled thinly and explained, “He thinks I'm his Indian princess.” 

\----

They used the bangles together once more before everything turned crazy and fell apart. 

The Patil parents had kept abreast of the news, ever-fearful of what a sequel to the first war might mean. Newspapers and the wireless warned of the rising darkness, and this time they wanted no part of it. They made plans, refreshed old contacts in Dwarka they had let drift after that disastrous summer. One day they sent letters to officially withdraw Parvati and Padma from Hogwarts with instructions for them to wrap up all outstanding homework assignments and meet them in Hogsmeade.

Neither girl did any packing. They met in the Restricted Section of the library once, unbidden and without conferring beforehand. Parvati hadn't been in the back stacks since the beginning of third year, but she knew immediately that was where she had to go to find Padma. They knew each other too well and not at all.

“We can't go yet.” Padma whispered. 

Parvati shook her head in agreement. “No we can't.” 

Padma stared at her a moment longer, “Alright, then,” and left.

Parvati had her reasons - silly school-girl ones - the voices in her head mumbled, but she shouted them down. She didn't want to know Padma's.

They met again the same way in the Great Hall before leaving the castle and making their way to Hogsmeade. Speaking was out of the question, but much more than words passed between their eyes. Parvati was terrified and her twin far too calm and too prepared for what they were about to do. Courage wasn't the absence of fear, and Parvati pressed her fingers along her right wrist and walked on.

But it turned out to be easy, speaking over the wishes of old Ma and Babuji. For the first time in over three years, twinning fingers behind their backs and thumbs rubbing softly against each other, Padma and Parvati clasped each other's bangles. 

How old Ma was getting. Her ramrod posture was exhausted, the frames of a scaffold about to collapse. Padma's magic was different – deeper and wilder. Together, they spoke words of persuasion and otherwise. Ma and Babuji heeded with only the mildest of resistance. It seemed to be a show really, as if they'd come with the script prepared and ready to play their part.

They went to Dumbledore together with a new set of letters. “We took care of everything.” “It's all right now.” “We can stay until the end of term.” They took turns speaking, without looking at each other or Dumbledore.

He only nodded tiredly, quickly glancing over to their bangles. 

“It would have been for the best if you two did...but I am glad to still have you here. Send my best to dear Estha and Rahel.”

They understood he had more pressing worries. The most he could do was to keep watching. It was the only way they were allowed to slip by with their indiscretions. And in the end, it didn't do any good. The old headmaster died. Babuji arrived late one night with reinforcement all the way from India, and this time not even their combined magic had the heart to fight the force behind the twinned institutions of family and heritage. They made no fuss. Unlike that summer, there would be no public shaming.

The common room was half empty and Parvati left a teary Lavender, still half asleep and confused. “We'll floo. I'll write. We'll see each other soon, I promise.” And she was gone.

\----

Her parents are one way, tired and spent. Padma is going another, growing brighter and sharper all the while. Parvati thinks about the way an egg once split into pieces and hopes for a third, a forth, a dozen and beyond of flickering permutations and hopes there is one out there for herself. She will keep polishing her crystal ball and shuffling cards until she is sure she has found it.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2007 for snorkackcatcher in the springtime_gen fest on livejournal.  
> My first fic.


End file.
